One touch. One miracle.

The air was thick and stifling with the scent of sweating, moving humanity. They stretched as far as your eyes could wander – no one knows how many.

It made moving quite difficult. They jostled & bumped into each other, many of them rudely trying to press their way closer to where the action was, up ahead. 

It all seemed to center around one man. He wore only plain clothing, and looked like any other man – except for the look in His eye.

They jostled and bumped into Him also. He bore it graciously – you could tell He loved and cared for each of them, but had a sort of yearning in His eyes. They’d bump into Him, and then jostle away, not stopping for long.

Then, He stopped. Hard to do in a crowd that is bent on moving, but they dared not question.

“Who touched Me?”

Even His Disciples thought He’d made a mistake here. They didn’t want to question their Master’s sanity or anything like that, but there were so many people touching Him on a constant basis – how could anyone know? What would be different about one from the other?

But He insisted. He could tell the difference – someone had been healed.

She came forward, trembling and with tears of joy. ‘It was I.’

‘I, who have been sick so long. No one else could help me. I believed – and could not even command enough strength and stature to ask for help… I believed and touched.’

And she was made whole.

How often do we bump into Jesus? Do we see Him in our pew? Maybe in our devotions? Maybe we jostle into Him, as we hurry through life, quite frequently.

Maybe He stands, tears running down His face.

“When will they touch Me?”

Friends, when will it be? No one else can help you.

Will you reach out and touch Him?